Greetings from your African dirt correspondent, exactly a month on from our first taste of dirt in Sudan. I'm writing from a small settlement called Laisamis, 95 kilometres from a dusty town called Marsabit, en route to Nairobi.

As we left Ethiopia, the heavy rain that had plagued the tour eased up and we were generously treated to several days of dryness. The weather changes quickly though and at 4:30am on our rest day in Marsabit riders were busily putting their rain flies on their tents. The roads in Marsabit quickly turned to mushy mud and vehicles (including our own bucky, the 'Drama Queen') were getting stuck every few hundred metres. We've not had to ride over any serious mud so far on this tour so this was shaping up to be an interesting riding challenge.

There was no real rain overnight and as the riding week began, we were told of the muddy sections that awaited us on the road. After a pretty serious downhill, I settled down for a morning of gradual descent to lunch. Soon enough the first mud arrived, vehicle tracks were carved half a foot in and any clear cut path soon vanished.

Riding over the mud was slippery and I was very glad of my previously ill-thought out decision to use fairly skinny dirt tyres. The mud attaches to your wheels quickly and within minutes it's rubbing against the inner edges of your frame and fork and collecting on top of your brake callipers, making no sound but slowing you down noticeably.

For one of the early sections, there were a hardened section on the sides of the road which was much quicker to ride along. I was riding along merrily at somewhere between 15 and 20 kmph when I caught sight of a local. He shouted and pointed straight across the road to something just metres in front of me. Slamming on my brakes and almost vaulting over my handlebars, the object he was pointing to was immediately apparent - a deep and wide crack in the earth.

Saved from this possible end to my riding day, I continued on to lunch, passing through water logged section after water logged section. The clear rain water turns brown as soon as it touches the soil and the standing water covering the depressed sections of road leaves a layer of fine grit on your skin, clothes and bicycle as you pedal through it. Bicycles were creaking for much of the day as the water washed off lube.

Visible from lunch was another water logged section of road where a truck had got stuck in a seemingly deep pothole. The cab of the truck was arched at 20 degrees to the surface of the water and it seemed that it was submerged about a metre. Normally the puddles aren't that deep, or at the very least, their surface maintains the same consistency as the road immediate before and immediately after it. Another rider Jason was standing on the other side of the puddle scraping his shoes but I took little notice of this. Feeling confident at my ability to ride such puddles, I cycled straight into this puddle, picking a line that followed the ruts on the road leading to it.

The first small puddle was fine but less than two metres into the second puddle I felt my front wheel disappear into some mysterious underwater chasm and I actually went over my handlebars this time. Luckily there was no hard impact, unluckily I was now soaked from neck down. The crew and passengers of the stuck truck broke into laughter and Jason, who hadn't seen me cycle in, was shocked to see just my head floating above the water. We stood and watched as three more riders crossed, somehow picking a line where they stayed relatively dry. One of the TDA trucks tried the same and was wedged underwater within seconds.

The afternoon featured the much promised 'extreme corrugation' and arriving to camp was a timely relief. As riders came into camp, it was pleasant to see some of the chronic complainers extolling their enjoyment of the day.


Sunil Shah powers through the tough stuff!

-written by Sunil Shah

www.geekonabicycle.co.uk

I am siting in camp, drinking some delicious soup and chatting and laughing with a few riders about the day's easy and beautiful ride, spinning up hills to accomplishment and breathtaking views, and tearing down 4 kilometer long downhills passing goats and cows and children wearing long scarves and carrying sticks to lead their cattle with.  As I slurp up the last bit of my soup, I decide to go for a walk.  Barely out of the camp perimeter, I am completely surrounded by children asking me for my shoes and my shirt and pens.  I decline and they take my hands and continue to beg as I find a way to continue to walk.  Soon, some older boys who speak English quite well join us and I sit down surrounded by these children, answering their questions about what I am doing here, where I have come from, which country is best out of Egypt, Sudan and Ethiopia, where I am going, what grade I am in, where I am from, how old I am, what my parents do for a living, if I am married, if I have children... the list goes on.  In turn, they answer the few questions I am able to squeeze in about what they study in school and what they do when they are not in school.  (They study 10 subjects: math, English, biology, chemistry, physics, Ahmeric(the local language), gym, history, and two more I cant seem to remember or find, and they only go to school in the morning; in the afternoon they work alongside their parents).  They are most impressed with how white the skin is on the underneath of my upperarms, which get little sun exposure, and the fact that I have no religion.  This seems to horrify them and they ask puzzled why I am wearing a necklace then (a simple little seahorse on a black string my sister gave to me before I left).  The children here almost all wear crosses around their necks, most of which are wooden.  Finally, I decide to make my way back to camp and try to explain to them that I want to go alone (it is common that the children steal from us and so we try to discourage them from coming too near our camp).  They get the idea and I say "chow!" and head back to camp.  Little do I know that the adventure tonight in discovering the local culture has hardly even begun!
 
Back in camp, my fellow rider Dana, whom visited a local village with me before, asks me if I know anything about the commune nearby we had briefly heard about. After some investigating we find three more people who are interested and our Ethiopian support staff generously offer to take us there, help translate and bring us back!  Set, we all load into the van and are off!  After a stretch on a narrow paved road and then another stretch on a narrower dirt and stone road, we roll into a small village.  Instantly, a sense of peace that brings us back to the deserts and villages of Sudan washes over us.  Wondy, our confidant, well informed and friendly Ethiopian support staff leader, speaks with a woman and within 2 minutes our tour is under way.  The woman is a teacher in the community and speaks English quite well.  She and Wondy explain to us the short but inspiring history of the community as we make our way toward the school house.

In 1980 of the Ethiopian calendar (1987 of the Gregorian calendar used in the west), Zumra Nuru moved to the area we are visiting (all land in Ethiopia is owned by the government and loaned out for 100 year periods) with the intention of founding a community based on his vision of a paradise on earth.  Today the population of what is now called Awuraamba Community is 412 and anyone at all is invited to join, provided they meet and accept the criteria: no lying, no stealing, no corruption, and treat everyone equally as human beings.  The last criteria is the big one that the whole community is based around.

Unlike most of Ethiopia, where there is segregation in household roles performed based on gender, in Awuraamba, no matter what your gender, age or background, your abilities determine your job.  In this self-sustained community both men and women tend to the cattle, farm, cook, look after the children and weave cloth.  The children's days are broken up into thirds: school, work (helping their parents) and play.  Education is highly valued here.  The children start their education young learning the alphabet as well as the community's values and customs ("Why wait for education?" asks our guide).  Once they are eight years old, they attend a government school in a local village.  If an adult joins the community, they are equally granted an education: the community teaches them to read and write and then funds their education in a university nearby.
 
As the tour progresses from the school house (an endearing mud and thatch building decorated with colourful drawings) to the library, we learn a little more about how the community is able to fund such things as education and acquire things they cannot make themselves, such as books.  Since the community is now recognised both by the Ethiopian government and the United Nations as a distinct community, books and some funds are donated to the community. Individuals and groups donate as well.  Also, as we see later in the tour, the community makes excess cloth items to sell to people outside of the community (and adults can make extra extra after they are done their community work for some extra personal income) . We leave the library, where the children were remarkably focused, hardly taking notice of us at all.
 
Next, we move on to the elderly quarters: another mud and thatch building, the inside a series of cubicles for the elderly or ill inhabitants to sleep in made from the same mud as the walls as seamless protrusions.  Our guide explains to us that in the community, when people become old or ill and cannot work, the community takes responsibility and cares for them. Zumra Nuru felt that when he were to grow old and tired, he would like to be taken care of, and so he will do the same for others.  "Why not have paradise on Earth?" our guide asks simply, and a slow smile forms on our lips.  I shake hands with a couple of the calm elderly folk who are resting in the shade and am hurried to join the group, where we find ourselves inside one of the 119 houses.
 
Before I describe this ingenious house, I want to add that in the community, people are also not segregated into families.  Everyone looks after one another.  This house we enter is a cooking hut, and I am taken away by the creativity that emerges from the mode of thinking that Awuraamba is based on.  Again, made from the same mud as the walls is a very interesting protrusion that has three main parts to it: one part to bake ingera (a crepe-like slightly sour bread that is the main staple in Ethiopian food), one part to make sauce (ingera is eaten with difference sauces or pastes made from things like chickpeas and lots of spices), and the last part is a chimney which lets the smoke escape into the outside air, with a little flap on top, from which water can be boiled from the steam, or it can simply be left unblocked to warm the house up if it is cold. Under all of this is a space to burn wood in to heat it all, which is done very efficiently. Brilliant!  Also, I say that the walls are made from mud, but as we learn here, they are in fact made from one part dirt and three parts soot, since soot can't burn.
 
We are nearing the end of our tour, we have only one building left to visit.  As we walk nearer to it we hear a loud curious humming and soon we find ourselves in the cloth making factory!  It is mezmerizing!  The room is busy and colourful as men and women are either spinning thread into rolls or spinning them into cloth!  We are led into a small shop where we all end up purchasing a cloth shall, scarf, or bag.
 
The tour is now over and as we leave the cloth making building, we meet up with a bunch of children, with whom we play ball (made from plastic bags and rope).  If you drop the ball, you are out, and when I do, I go over to a bunch of children.  One of them takes my hand and gently pulls me down.  I croutch down and smile and laugh a little and the whole bunch of them erupt into a fit of giggles!
 
It is almost dusk, and we prepare to leave, but first we shake hands with the founder and his wife who have come out to greet us.
 
Our tour ends, but before I leave you too, some last very important pieces of information: Firstly, in this community, there is no one religion.  People do not have to give up their religion in order to become part of the community, but no one religion is openly practiced and instead, the strong belief that every human being is equal translates into many customs and values which are upheld by numerous various committees. Because there is no religion, there is also no ceremony for marriage.  If two people decide to be together, they won't date first, they will simply decide they want to be together and then sign a piece of paper.  Also, people are free to marry anyone from within or outside of the community, and people are also free to come and go as they please.  As for the children, once they are eighteen, they can decide to leave the community if they wish.
 
If ever you decide to visit Awuraamba, I am pleased to let you know that we actually visited one more building.... a hostel!  Anyone passing through the area is invited to stay the night, wrapped in colourful cloth bedding and a sense of care, peace and joy, complete with a mosquito net for 20 birr a night!  The group of us opt to head back to camp instead, where we eat another  fabulous meal (in huge portions) that was set aside for us, and crawl into our tents to rest up before another day of cycling!

  -- Andra Nadeau Jakobson

There are many ways to cross the Nile, I discovered. We did it already many times over bridges with our bicycle. We have mostly followed the flow of the Nile ever since Cairo, and from Khartoum on we were along one of the two rivers creating the Nile, the Blue Nile. But what about crossing it on a donkey, in a boat? I did it. It just happened. Having a swim in the Nile after a long day of riding was followed by meeting a lot of friendly locals in the neighboring village that was next to our camp. And there was a boat with a donkey in it, strange enough to shoot some pictures. And that was followed by an invitation to cross the river, and one of the youngsters on the boat jumped on the donkey and wanted me to do the same. So from the tip of the boat I jumped, but being a little heavier then the young kid, the poor donkey almost collapsed. And here I was, on a donkey on the Nile…TIA.   The first two days of riding require a few new skills. The road is difficult, heavily used and corrugated, especially around the towns. Because of the heavy traffic, we agree upon a new command: OFF! After a few near misses, this is what we shout when there is a bus overtaking and coming in our direction, completely taking over the road and driving fast. We jump with our bikes off the road onto the shoulder gravel, and regroup afterward once the heartbeat has dropped a bit. We enter the town of Sinnar in an area the Sudanese government is trying to promote, and there is a large welcoming committee. Its almost like driving over the Champs Elysees on the last day of the Tour de France; hundreds of people are cheering, there is a camera man filming, there are banners, thumbs up, and so on. In the evening Sudan becomes even more surreal. At camp during dinner suddenly a touring bus pulls up and a group of beautifully dressed women step out, followed by a team of Karate Kids running through camp and giving a complete combat performance. It almost feels like colonial times, when the first Europeans embarked on Africa and met the local people, with rituals to somehow communicate or connect. And you can see the hope in the peoples eyes for a better future of Sudan.
  

-- Frans Smit

Yesterday afternoon there was a flurry of activity in our first 'bush camp' as riders either swapped tyres on their bikes or helped other riders swap tyres on their bikes. The sound of tents flapping in the wind was interrupted only by the constant whoosh of tyres being deflated.

It was with much trepidation that our first day of riding on dirt finally arrived. While last year's riders would have experienced this much earler in the tour (as they entered Sudan), road builders in Sudan have been hard at work paving the main road from the North of the country to Khartoum.

This year, recognising that we were being deprived of precious off-road mileage (or should that be kilometreage), the route was rejigged so that we're passing through Dinder National Park and with that comes two and a half days of unpaved, dirt roads.

Having spent much time contemplating what bike to bring, it is now in Africa that our decisions are being tested. It is virtually impossible to change our choices of bike now.

The dirt began and within minutes you began to wonder 'what if'. The road was composed of fine gravel, corrugated in patches and sandy in other, mostly overlapping patches. Choosing your line wisely was important - to one side of the road the corrugation would shake you hard and to the other you'd be performing the bicycle equivalent of 'swathing' through sand.

When I finally reached the lunch truck, the relative rider ranking was clearly different. Riders with front suspension were (for the most part) smiling, those with rigid cyclocross bikes looked weary from hard work.

The afternoon was, despite much of the same terrain, surprisingly good fun. Occasionally the road would become slightly less 'throw you all over the place if you don't hold on tight with both hands' and more 'go fast' and there were some beautiful sections that rolled up and down. The constant corrugation led to sore forearms (for those of us without front suspension) and you soon forgot any other sores picked up in the last week.

The road took us through a number of local villages and in most of them, villagers lined up by the side of the road to cheer us on. Occasionally we'd cycle past a school building and nearly a hundred children would come out running and shouting. I apologise to their teacher for the disruption.

As I sit here writing at 6pm, there are still riders coming in, nearly 11 hours after they set off this morning. The sky is nearly overcast and there is potential for rain. Dinner will be well received tonight.

Sunil Shah
http://www.geekonabicyle.co.uk

We are entering the true Africa. Egypt still has a lot of western influence, and is Arabic in essence, but now we have entered Sudan. Who goes to Sudan as a tourist? Almost nobody. At the visa agency in Holland (the expert on all visas worldwide) getting a visa for Sudan is rare and most of the time visas are denied after weeks or months. The boat trip over Lake Nasser, from Aswan to Wadi Halfa, says it all. But first let me backtrack to some crazy days before…   From Luxor we drove to Idfu, halfway along the way to Aswan and by the Nile. The Nile cruise ships stop here, making the hassling of the local people a bit annoying. It’s a normal cycling day. We are getting the hang of it, and arrive early. The campsite is on a fenced off soccer field, and the toilet facilities are the most disgusting I have seen so far. The town is also a bit greasy and dusty. We walk around to find a falafel restaurant. While crossing the very busy central road of town, congested with cars, people, donkeys and the like, I suddenly feel myself hanging by my elbows about 1,5 meters down. What happened? One of the sewer puts [manholes] didn’t have a lid, and while I was looking the other way searching for a restaurant, I stepped into it. In a reflex I must have opened my elbows, which prevented me from falling down three meters deep, and would have certainly meant a major injury. TIA: This Is Africa. My buddies see me crawling out the hole, and it looks like I have only scratched my leg and broken my slipper. At camp after cleaning it’s a little more serious, two small holes close to the chin bone, so the nurse cleans it properly, puts on a bandage and gives me antibiotics for the next 5 days. In the morning it’s a little stiff, but cycling is OK. I kind of miss the race start, and try to chase the group, but while crossing the Nile there is a perfect picture opportunity. I decide that this is a sign to take it easy today. I arrive in Aswan half an hour after the race group but fully relaxed; there is a lot to arrange for the border crossing. The overland trucks already left the day before with a part of the luggage, and my passport photos that I need, so I have to make a few new ones which is an experience on its own.   We drink our last beers (Sudan is a dry country) on the floating restaurants along the Nile and on Monday morning we leave in convoy to cross the Aswan dam to go to the ferry. It still early and a few people are waiting by the ferry. We go through customs relatively smoothly with our bags and bikes and load the stuff on the ferry. The TdA has reserved all cabins, but there are only 22 (two person) cabins. The remaining people have to sleep on the deck, which has a romantic appeal at first but as the day progresses things change radically. The boat is slowly stacked with passengers, TVs, fridges and other big piles of bags. Now we understand while the whole docking procedure takes so long. At the end of the day the roof is completely stacked, and people have started to build small secluded areas by building walls of TVs or tucking themselves under the life boats.   Taking a tour on the boat with my camera makes me grin from ear to ear: its one big mess of yelling people, carrying around big bags and trying to claim the small corners of the boat that are not covered. I am glad I have a hut. Although, when I return to my hut, I see that a mouse already had a bite of my food stash, and lifting the mattress makes a few cockroaches crawl away… TIA. I decide to sleep on the front deck, although I am warned that it’s a flood area for the ballast tanks on the ship. A few times that night when I hear the water start to run I jump out of my sleeping bag on top of one of the crates. For the rest, it truly is romantic: the moon, the stars, the breeze, the smell of water. I see the sunrise; we pass by Abu Simbel and dock at around twelve noon. It takes a couple of hours before the 500 people, fridges, bags, microwaves, TVs and other stuff leave the ship and we can take our bags and bikes through customs, where everything is checked, re-checked, stickered, and checked again. Welcome to Sudan…   It has a totally different buzz. Sudan is something you would not expect after all the news reports the last few years about war. We discover this on our first night and first riding day in Sudan. People are overly friendly, interested, welcome you everywhere you go, walk around camp to look at our bikes and us (being of a different colour) and ask questions. Also, it’s much quieter than busy Egypt. We have the newly paved road almost all to ourselves, it is warmer (but still comfortable) and doesn’t cool off as much at night. It almost starts to look like a holiday. The camp after the first riding day is next to the Nile, and we have a swim guarded by a security officer, armed with an AK47 against the crocodiles. He even gets a go at a small crocodile swimming by.   -Frans Smit (rider)

How to describe Cairo Traffic?  People in Cairo drive the same way you or I would walk through a shopping mall.   Drivers treat the roadway as one big promenade, zigging and zagging where they please, sometimes in the middle of the lane, other times between lanes.  On my trip into the city from the airport I counted a dozen times I thought we were going to hit another car and crash.  But our driver, like most Egyptian drivers, have a keen sense of the boundaries of their vehicles and are very comfortable driving with other cars surrounding them less than a hands width away.

There is hint of logic to they way drivers negotiate the (very) crowded roadways, but just a hint.  They honk and flash their lights in a semi-secret code that tells other drivers to move left, hurry up, or watch out.  Learning to drive in a city of 8 million people with roadways designed to carry 4 million have given them a 'spidey sense'  about when to yield and when to push into traffic aggressively.   That's why I say driving in Cairo is akin to walking around a shopping mall, on the day after thanksgiving.

So imagine in all this chaos seeing your newly arrived bike, packed snugly in it's cardboard box, the one that will be your constant companion for the next 4 months and 12,000 kms, go flying off the roof of your taxi and into the madness of Cairo traffic.  Yeah.

If you have a hard time imagining that then just ask Patrick Cantwell.  The Aussie rider and his partner were in a cab from the airport when the straps holding their oh so precious bikes to the roof broke.

Fortunately for Patrick and Wayne their bikes were OK.  Patrick's front wheel was damaged but repairable.  Rod, another rider at the hotel, helped him to get it rolling and we'll have our mechanic complete the repair when he arrives on Tuesday.   No matter how much you prepare.  It's hard to prepare for everything that could happen to you on the Tour d'Afrique.

--
Paul J McManus
Tour Director, Tour d'Afrique Ltd

The Elephant Highway stage of the Tour d’Afrique is famous for two things: our two-tusked friends and long days in the saddle. But why stop at 150km, when 300km has a sounds far more fulfilling?

 

My fourth day riding the Tour had been, like others before it, tough but thrilling. Once again I was getting a huge kick out of  riding, sometimes in groups or pairs and sometimes alone, pinching myself that I was on two wheels speeding (sometimes) through the Botswana grasslands and salt-pans.  

So much was I enjoying the day that when I stopped at a refreshment fill-up that I forgot how to ride my bike and fell over, grazing my knee like a schoolboy in a football match. This mildly painful incident occupied my mind for the next 25km, by which point I began to consider that I may have ridden, assisted by a hefty tail-wind, right past our bush-camp for the night.

 

It was at this point that odd part of the human brain which defies common sense spoke up. ‘We’re going to Maun then. It’s only another 130km. There is a pool there.’ And on I went, aiming for Maun. Thirty minutes later, I hit a giant pothole and blew out both tires. An hour on, I found a coke stop that no other rider found. It may have been a divine intervention.

 

Thirty kilometers from Maun I got another puncture and, exhausted after nine hours in the saddle and the searing heat, stuck my arm out. Astonishingly, the first truck that went past skidded to a halt and the driver gestured for me to climb in. A taxi ride from the outskirts of Maun to our verdant oasis of a hotel later and I met the four other riders who’d (intentionally) done the double day.

 

Unbeknownst to me the lack of mobile reception meant me message hadn’t got through to camp and I am buying several beers for the guys who were chasing after me almost all the way to Maun. But like everything on the Tour easy-going bonhomie covers a multitude of sins and when the other riders arrived today I was greeted like the runaway fool I was and have enjoyed a day of gentle ribbing. I am colour blind (missing a multitude of pink ribbon flagging the camp) and that I work for a company called ‘What planet am I on?’ Line of day goes to speedy rider Frankie ‘Hey! 300km Man! And you didn’t even mean to!’

 

- Tom Hall

 
We  all Dream, consciously or subconsciously,
Especially when riding a bike
for 8 hours and sleeping for 10 hours daily.
Subconscious dreams may be remembered, to be savoured,
Analyzed by Freudian, Jungian or Shaman analysts,
Or just forgotten.

Daydreams, our conscious dreams where we are the
Director and actor allow us to stretch the limits of our Imagination.  The collective boundaries of all our imaginations
(CBI) sets the limit of humanities potential, whether utilized or not.
As Bobby Kennedy said  "Some men see things as they are, and say whyI dream of things that never were, and say why not"

Perhaps the larger our CBI, the higher the likelihood of our extinction.  If not, then with a high probability there exist intelligent beings in our cosmos whose intelligence compared to
ours is like ours compared to that of a mouse.  Their CBI will be
vast compared to ours.  Outside the union of all CBI's lies the totally unimaginable.

Perhaps if our spirit is sufficiently evolved when we die, it is allowed to go wander the totally unimaginable. Perhaps this is heaven.

Ernest Enns

           After an arduous uphill day yesterday, today was downhill- 1,700m descent along a ridge top with spectacular views. OK, we did have to ride uphill for 20km or so first, but that was soon forgotten. The morning was spent in cloud & was quite cool, the first descents had my teeth chattering- quite a novel experience to be cold and sweating buckets at the same time.

            I warmed up by eating. A long stop for mundazi (doughnuts without the jam or hole or sugar), chapattis (fresh from the hotplate) & samosas (sold from the back of a bicycle). Plus a coke of course- they're not called Coke Stops for nothing.

            The views were really what the day was all about. From Tanzania the land seems to slide down into Malawi. Verdant green valleys, sometimes cultivated with corn, tea, bananas, sometime wild, cascaded off to our right. Whilst on the left the land rolled down to Lake Malawi in the distance, another range of mountains looming behind it.

            When we finally crossed the Songe River into Malawi the land was immediately flat, a striking change. And the fields were full of rice. Malawi is already noticeably poorer- the road being an immediate symptom. 15kms of flat riding saw the trucks appear along with about 200 local children standing around the camp. We're obviously the star attraction tonight- I hope we don't disappoint them.

Fiona Siseman
Lonely Planet Rider

When the Celestial Dice are Rolled
We are born with colour, ethnicity, intelligence, relatives
and the desire for Life

Until the age of majority
healthcare, education and sustenance should be our birthright
Then we should be given freedom to pursue
the ultimate goals of happiness and contentment

There are many trajectories to the same goal
Be it sitting in a sunny Ethiopian alpine meadow watching our ten cows
or Sitting in our private club savouring a filet and sipping Chateaux Margaux ‘84
Of Course these externals do not show what lies in the heart Our greatest potential handicap is either
Having too Little or Having too Much

May the spirit that guides us
Show us the path to Nirvana

Ernest Enns